The Candyman
by Etalyx
Summary: "Lust is the first of seven. Pride is the last. Know your sin Gordon, and repent. The Candyman" -Extremely Graphic-


**0: A Taste For Sweets**

His shoes were covered in salt from the slush that was invading the sidewalk. The salt was a like a parasite on his, what had been early that day, highly polished shoes. He could still smell the shoe polish. Or perhaps it was the shabby cab that was sputtering a few yards down the street. Out the cab stepped a man, dressed in a black suit, an equally dark homburg pulled down over his eyes. The man's face was immaculately clean shaven, and devoid of wrinkles. He stopped in his tracks, a sort of aura, an old and potent power, seemed to be pulling him towards this mysterious figure.

"I have what you're looking for." The man's voice was low and quiet, as if he didn't speak often.

"Excuse me?" He said puzzled.

"A woman. Large breasted and, to use your exact vulgarity, 'a nympho slut that wouldn't stop me fucking her brains out.'" The man's mouth frowned slightly, as if in thought.

His heart was racing. The man was right. That was exactly what he wanted. The only problem is that he had just had that thought, not five minutes before while getting off the subway.

His unease must've been apparent, as the eerie man began to laugh.

It was not a pleasurable sound. It made the hairs on the back of neck stand up.

But for some reason, the longer and more guttural the laughter became, the more he wanted to take the man's offer. After a while he joined the man in laughing. It felt maniacal and liberating.

"What's the loophole?" he said, the smirk still pasted on his face, unable to come off.

The man pondered for a moment, then pointed to a single lit window in the building next to him, third floor. "Room 307."

He followed the man's finger and saw a beautiful lady at the end of it, large breasted and dressed in black staring at something in her room that was amusing her. Probably some late night television program.

"I don't understand." He said, not taking his eyes off her. Rather, he was unable to. A primal roar was sounding inside him. His cock was already rock hard, as he thought of burying it inside the woman repeatedly.

"Rape her. Then slit her throat and have intercourse with her esophagus. When you're finished, stab her until her intestines fall out. Trail them out of the window and hang yourself from them." The man remarked, as if reporting on stock prices to a colleague.

His heart skipped a beat. He thought he might just ejaculate right there on the sidewalk, all over his salty shoes. He licked his lips, aware he was drooling, although he didn't care. "Can I?" he whispered, unable to contain his excitement.

"Of course!" Another laugh from the man who pulled off the homburg and made eye contact with him. One of the eyes was electric blue. The other was emerald green. Both had scarlet flecks in them. "Just one thing." The man's laughter died down as an envelope was pulled from a pocket inside the suit. "Leave this on the nightstand will you?"

"My pleasure." He was becoming increasing frustrated. That woman needed to be fucked. And he needed to do the fucking. "Just hurry!"

The man extended the arm holding the envelope, and he snatched in frenzy.

The man watched as he fled into the building, deranged and lustful.

The man watched as he beat the woman's head into the window until her eyes rolled back into her head and the glass spiderwebbed. Her head lolled as he fucked her unconscious body. After a minute or two, the bucking stopped, and a large kitchen knife appeared in front of the woman's neck. He slashed it across and blood painted the window in pulses, not covering it fast enough to block out the man now thrusting his erect penis down her throat.

The man, without taking his eyes off the blood saturated window, reached into his suit coat once again, and pulled out a pack of candy cigarettes. The man promptly stuck one in his mouth, then replaced the pack of candy back into his coat. He took small bites of the candy stick, gazing into the window, waiting for something.

The man smiled as the window flew open. He was stark naked, an intestine wound around his neck. He leaped.

The man watched as he flailed, his penis still hard. He was getting off on this even though he was being strangled.

The man watched until he took his last breath, that maniacal, beastly look still glued to his face.

The man exhaled and got back into the shabby cab, pulling his homburg back over his eyes as the cab pulled away, patting the crumbs of candy off his coat, whilst flicking the half eaten candy onto the curb.

_**The next morning…**_

Commissioner James Gordon sat at his desk, drinking his coffee. It was particularly bitter this morning, a reflection of the stormy, snowy weather. He ran a hand through his freshly greying hair, trying to sooth his ragged nerves. Gordon had had a strange feeling all since he had woken up. A prickling uncomfortable prod in the back of head, like there was a hive of agitated, but not yet angry, fire ants there.

Gordon sipped his coffee, trying to concentrate on the report he was supposed to be reviewing on how to improve home safety in Gotham City. He tried reading, and rereading, the first paragraph three times before giving up, swallowing the dregs of his coffee.

Just as he set the mug down, his cellphone rang.

"Gordon here."

"James."

"Oracle?" Gordon sat up, fully alert. The prickling discomfort transformed into outright dread. Oracle never called him unless things were really bad.

"James. I need your help." Oracle's voice was strained, and…disgusted?

"I'm sure Batman can help you much faster and better than myself Oracle." Gordon responded. The dread had spread to his chest, making breathing a labor.

"He's currently out of the country. And you were the only one I can trust."

Gordon stayed silent, his tongue thick in his mouth. Oracle continued.

"There's been a murder. And a suicide. And a rape." Oracle sounded detached, seemingly hiding revulsion.

"What's the catch?" Gordon coaxed, knowing there was something to it. His gut was wound tight, like a viper now resided in the pit of his stomach, ready to strike at any moment.

"It's something you need to see. 254th Street. The Wander Inn."

_Click._

Gordon held his phone to his ear, lost in thought. The viper hissed with malice inside him, waiting for the opportune moment.

Gordon flipped his phone shut, deciding he would go immediately to this crime site. While he pulled on his overcoat and scarf, his instinct told him to just stay.

To wait for the Batman to sort this one out.

But his sense of duty, justice, and perhaps a little pride, persuaded him otherwise.

Twenty minutes later, Gordon arrived at the crime scene, just as the sun was rising up to show the fresh new paint job done to the third floor, a vibrant scarlet in the snow.

Gordon blinked.

A man hung, completely naked, from the third floor window, with intestines wrapping around his neck. His groin was caked with blood, belonging presumably whomever the poor soul whose insides now served as a gallows.

Gordon headed inside, noting the receptionist's faraway look, and the owners' bewilderment and abhorrence as he past the front desk. He headed straight for the stairs, noticing the dented door. He climbed the stairs, observing the rapist's clothes strewn about in apparent fervor. He strode straight to the room that was taped off, room 307. He noticed how the lock was broken, and the door set off its hinges, and the two police officers sat outside, both looking queasy.

Then he saw her.

And for the first time in his long career, he almost yelled out.

The woman was his wife's friend from college, still dressed in the black dress she had worn to last night's class reunion.

Her eyes bored into his, lifeless, but filled to the brim with horror. Her head had been repeatedly smashed, and ripped so far back that it was probable that the skull had dislodged from the spine. Her intestines draped out the window, her body held down by chair lodged underneath the window sill. There were copious amounts of blood everywhere, long locks of black hair floating around in it.

Gordon stared, unable to process what he was seeing.

Then Gordon's gaze landed on the envelope, immaculate in the sea of red.

Gordon was drawn to it.

He reached the night stand, the viper in his stomach screeching its approval. The letter had his name on it.

Gordon grasped the white paper in his hand, flipping it over.

His hand shook.

He opened the flap, pulling out the note contained within.

It read:

"Lust is the first of seven.

Pride is the last.

Know your sin Gordon, and repent.

The Candyman"

Gordon's blood went cold as the viper uncoiled in his insides, lashing out, its poison coursing through his veins.

It was the first sentence of the note; "first of seven."

That meant there was to be six more crimes.

Six more instances in which he would watch people suffer or die. Perhaps both.

Horror trickled down his spine as realized that he was going to be forced to see six more brutalities on people he loved.

Because this man, the one who called himself The Candyman, was going to make him suffer.

The same way that Gordon had made him suffer.

Because the one who called himself The Candyman was Gordon's first partner.

The partner that Gordon had needed to shot and arrested to stop him from performing a mass homicide out of revenge.

The partner that taught Gordon everything he knew.

And knew everything about Gordon.

***Author's Note***

**Hello everyone! This is an idea I've had brewing for quite a while now, and I'm super excited to get the pilot chapter out. Hope you all enjoy.**

**Sincerely,**

**Etalyx**


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